Fate's Salvation
by Zakemaster
Summary: On the continent of Elibe, war is on the horizon. As Roy charges to rescue his father and Lilina, another steps into the light. Will a fatal accident shatter history as it was meant to be, or will Fate find salvation in a new champion. OC. Alt. Reality.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Men and Dragons once lived in harmony in this land. However, that harmony was broken when the men suddenly started to invade. In a great war known as the Scouring, both sides fought over control of the continent. The laws of nature were twisted from the vast amounts of power that were released. Eventually, the dragons were defeated and disappeared from the face of the continent. Victorious, mankind then began to spread its forces and populate the land, ushering in a new age.

Now, 1000 years later, war is again on the horizon.

Man now resides in every corner of the continent of Elibe. In the west lies the Kingdom of Etruria, a heavily populated land. In the east, the Kingdom of Bern rules firmly with its powerful military. Between the two lie three smaller nations: the Lycian Alliance, the Knights Union of Ilia, and the plains of Sacae. The Lycian Alliance in the south is jointly ruled by many marquees, while the cold north is ruled by Ilia, a country led by its union of knights. To the northeast is the plains of Sacae, which is ruled and populated by many nomadic clans that travel the land on horseback. The nations sometimes clashed, but overall there was a general peace throughout the land.

Suddenly, the peace was broken. The king of Bern, Zephiel, unleashed his army across Elibe unprovoked. The army swept across Sacae and Ilia, slaughtering all that stood in their path. It was a massacre, and Bern quickly took over the land. Now King Zephiel shows signs of invading Lycia. Residing in Lycia's largest territory, Ostia, Roy, the son of Eliwood, current marquee of Pherae, was studying for the time when he must take his father's place. Unfortunately, Eliwood had fallen ill and sent for Roy to return. At the same time, Lilina, daughter of Hector, marquee of Ostia, traveled to Pherae to pay her respects to Eliwood. Roy immediately began his journey home alongside his loyal knights Alan, Wolt, and Marcus. Also with him was Bors, a loyal knight of Ostia who was tasked with bringing Lilina home safe. When Roy neared his home, he heard unsettling news from Lance, a knight, who quickly rode to meet with him. The castle was under attack by bandits, and Eliwood and Lilina were trapped inside. With no time to waste, Roy mobilized his forces and attempted to rescue his father and friend.

Meanwhile, in the nearby village of Yuel, a boy named Cley is the only remaining member of the local militia, bedded by illness when the militia was sent to the borders to protect against Bern's forces. The bandits realized quickly that the castle wasn't the only place with a good catch, and headed for Yuel. Can Cley hold his own against the bandits until Roy's army arrives?

I do not own any part of Fire Emblem. I'm only using these characters. I do, however, own Cley, Yuel, and anything else you don't know about. So, if you don't know what it is, it's mine. Enjoy.


	2. Chapter 1

Roy's rapier quickly plunged through the gut of an approaching bandit. The body fell limp to the floor beneath it, and the blade found its way out unhindered. There were sounds of metal clashing against metal, and grunts seemed to be the only human noises. Roy's eyes followed a trail of blood to a bandit, crawling across the ground, hoping to escape. He was wounded, and it seemed fatal. Still, he crawled onward, hoping for some grace to come his way. Instead, his head was met by a horse's shoe, and pink and red sprayed everywhere. Lance's horse kicked away from the man, and rode to meet another foe. There may be more bandits, but Roy wasn't worried about that. His thoughts returned to his father and Lilina, and he couldn't take it any longer. He knew the knights could deal with this on their own. He had to hurry to the castle.

He saw Alan nearby, and ran to him. Alan, on horseback, used his spear to hold back an axe-wielding bandit, intent on killing. The spear's tip found a hole in the man's defense, which turned to a whole in his chest. He fell unmoving to the floor, embraced in death. Alan looked to see the Roy clambering towards him, and he turned to face the lord. Roy approached and looked towards his father's castle. "I need a ride."

Alan offered Roy his hand. "Sure thing."

Roy planted himself on the horse behind Alan, and charged onwards. His mind was only on the castle. Alan knew this side of the prince well. Once in battle, he was serious. And he was merciless. Alan would have pitied the lives of the bandits in Roy's path, if not for his desire to do the same and worse to those who dare to stand against Pherae. The horse beneath Alan ran hard. It was a good horse. And it was fast.

Roy and Alan rounded the edge of the lake at full speed, breaking past the bandits lying in wait, with little patience. The two both knew what had to be done. And nothing would stop them. Or so they thought.

The heavy occupation of bandits to the east of the cliff face forced them west. A longer path, but in the end it would be both faster and easier. The horse still showed no signs of fatigue, which was in their good graces. It was not to their advantage, though, to have to pass so close to the village of Yuel. Unknown to the pair, the bandits were already there, flowing through the town, burning and killing along the way. It was still unknown until Roy's eyes, scanning the countryside of his war-wrought home, spotted smoke. His fury flared and his conscience buckled. The village. He knew many of the kind men that lived there. But could he just wait until after the castle? Was there time? No. He knew he had no choice. And Alan was the faster, with his horse. "Alan, head west."

Alan had also noticed the smoke, but his war-hardened heart told him the obvious truth. Many would die if he saved these few. The needs of the many were greater. But he couldn't disobey the young lord riding behind him. "My lord, I suggest otherwise. The castle is in danger, as is your father, the current marquee. He is much more important."

The pleads fell on deaf ears. "There isn't time to worry. Drop me here. I'll continue on to the village and clean house while you continue to the castle. You need to hurry. I can't leave these people to die."

Alan was wrong. The youthful and naïve Roy still remained. He still wasn't strong enough to harden himself fully to the fires of war. And he knew his words would reach no ear. Alan slowed, and Roy dismounted. Both shared a look that all must give to each other before they depart in war. Neither knew if they would see each other again, and both agonized. Still, they each went their own ways. The ways they each knew was right.

Meanwhile...

Cley's ears had drawn to the sound of many footprints outside, but what truly caught his attention were the sounds of distant flame. The crackling was distinguishable from the background by its quantity. Its force. It sounded as if the whole village had been sent ablaze. Now healthy from long months in bed, his bones still seemed to creak from the long break. He felt years beyond his own, and dreaded the feeling. His joints were stiff. His muscles lax. He had fought to hold the lightest of things, though that was now long gone, a distant nightmare of weakness, like so many years before. He had begun to feel his grip tighten again. Not even illness could stop him. But it could at least save his life. He knew of the village militia being sent from the town towards the frontlines. His illness prevented his travel. Cley felt an uneasy feeling wash over him, and as he approached the door, he reached for the sword.

The streets were filled by villagers. And they were in a panic. Cley's eyes drifted the opposite way they ran, and found that fire littered the town. Houses and shops were engulfed in the living fire that seemed to travel down the road, smothering anything in its way. He knew the fires of magic, but this was not it. It was passed on by the hands of men. Men with axes and bows and swords. Men with a desire to kill. Bandits. Cley grasped his sword tight, though its weight still encumbered his withered body. He couldn't leave though. He was all that was left. He returned to his house and grasped his bow. He found only two arrows before he could take no more and returned.

He knocked the arrow, and with great difficulty gave strength to the power it would need to reach its mark. He aimed for the closest man, a man riding in the land, guiding the unholy flame across the town. The arrow was let fly, and Cley worried if he had hit his mark. His confirmation was the man's crumpled state, his burning torch landing in the dirt laid ground below his horse's feet. The horse reared as the fire seared its leg, and the beast leaped away, knocking into another, sending a man falling to the ground. He was lost in the dust of the horses as they continued their approach, now aware of a challenge. Cley could count six more. He knocked another arrow, aiming at the other torch bearer. That was when he saw a bow aimed his way. Cley turned and let his last arrow soar. The arrow hit the archer plain in his chest, and far from Cley's ears, and single grunt was uttered. The rest seemed to have no bows, but Cley dared not return to his home. Instead, he drew the weighted blade from its sheath and watched as the mounted bandits approached. He could see the men draw axe against their foe. It was a fearsome sight.

A hand grasped Cley's arm, and he quickly turned to see his sister, Elly. "Run, you idiot. You can't hope to fight these men alone."

Cley looked back at the men, their horses still charging. They were close. He could see their eyes through the hoods resting on their heads. "And you can't hope to outrun them without help. They have horses. I want you to go to the stables down the road and get two horses. If I don't make it, lead the people to the castle. I have a feeling this isn't all we'll have to worry about. Go."

Elly did as he said, and Cley looked at the men, almost upon him. They began to slow, and Cley made sure his back was safe, anchored to a building. His sword was drawn and ready for any that dared to move towards him. All six did. They slowed on their approach. The group rounded him in a half-circle. He was trapped. The man with the torch threw it to a comrade, and trotted forward. "Pretty brave, boy. But bravery wasted on a sickly-looking one such as you is truly wasted. You killed two of my men. I'm not one to forgive debts either. That means two lives. And seeing as there's only one of you, I'm going to go hunt down that little hussy you spoke to. She was cute."

Cley showed no fear or rage in his face, but his hand showed both, trembling in the shape of a fist. This man would die. He didn't care about the others, but this man would die. It was easy that way. He didn't need to bother killing the other men, as if he could on his own, even at his best. No, the only one that needed to die was this man, their leader. Cley tightened his grip on the heavy sword resting in his hand. He just needed a good chance. The bandit leader approached more, but not much. He was careful. "I think I'll kill you after her. That would show you what it means to stand up to us."

Cley remained quiet. The man seemed annoyed. Annoyance was good. It created mistakes. Openings. "You a mute, boy? Speak to me when I grace you with my words!"

Cley still kept his lips tight. The man seemed to get angry, but quickly calmed down. He turned to the man who held the torch and motioned to the house with a flip of his head. The man cocked his arm back and let the torch sail through the air, connecting with the roof of Cley's house. The building quickly turned to tinder, and dangerous sparks descended from above. Clay was forced to approach the bandits, losing his advantage. This man was smart. He wasn't rash, and knew what he was doing. The two bandits to Cley's sides slowly approached, given away by faint traces of movement in his peripheral vision. He again readied himself. This time, he struck.

His weakened arms used momentum to swing the blade, which barreled around and struck the man to Cley's left. The man blew a bubble of blood from his mouth, and went limp onto his horse. The horse, startled by the action, took steps back. Cley took his chance and ran through the opening. His feet barely caught hold of the loose dirt beneath him before it pushed him further onward. He didn't get far.

The sound of horses was behind him. He couldn't take all five, and was left running towards the burning village. He could feel that they were almost on him, about to overtake him. This was a game to them. They killed for fun. Cley stopped and turned, close to what remained of a burning home. The bandits slowed and approached him again. He took a step back. The bandit leader was still smiling. He looked out towards the town left unscarred. Cley could see the hunger to kill in the bandit's eyes. The bandit leader motioned to two of the bandits, who dismounted. "I wish I could stay and play, but I have things that need my attention, like that girly of yours. Men, deal with the shit."

The bandit leader and his two mounted lackeys rode back towards the running townspeople. Cley was stuck between the two men. He was trapped. Or so he wanted them to think. "Don't worry, boy. I'll make it quick. We need to get back and have more fun."

The bandit who spoke smiled, and had a tight grip on his axe. They were only feet away when Cley made his move. He swung his sword, but the man was fast. It met with the bandit's axe, and was caught. The bandit jerked, and the sword flew from Cley's still weak arms. He truly was cornered now, all that was behind him the still burning corpse of a home. That was where his plan came from. The men dropped their guard. They prey was unarmed. Cley struck.

He reached his hand back, and grasped a part of the building brought loose from the flame. Cley swung hard, and the wood broke loose, its end tipped in still burning fire. The swing carried around and met the face of a bandit, exploding into embers thrown through the air. The man recoiled back and fell to the ground, his hands holding his face as he rolled in agony. Cley reached for the bandit's discarded axe, and turned it against its owner, cleaving him through the stomach. Cley ripped the axe out and rolled away, narrowly dodging a blow from the other man.

Cley readied the axe, much heavier then he wished. The man swung first. Cley dodged. Cley swung next. The man fell. Cley dropped the axe; his hands hurt from the pure weight of the weapon, and grasped his sword, only feet away. Cley looked towards the way the men left, and saw them not far off. They were taking their time, enjoying themselves. Cley mounted a bandit's horse, and drove the creature hard. It ran towards Cley's enemies as fast as it could. Cley hoped it was enough. It wasn't.

As Cley approached, he could see that the men had found Elly. He tried to make the beast beneath him run faster, but it refused. The screaming girl was dragged in front of the bandit's leader, his axe held high. Cley wouldn't make it. Not in time. That was when he saw him. A boy, clad in blue armor. He came from nowhere, and clasped his hand over Elly's shoulder, pulling her away from blow. He wasn't a second too soon. A bandit approached the boy, who drew a rapier and impaled the man, who fell from his mount. Another swung his axe, which the boy deflected with his blade. This man soon shared the fate of his comrade.

Cley was almost upon the bandit leader. His sword had been drawn, and was ready. The bandit leader, originally focused on the deadly youth in front of him, seemed to notice Cley approaching, and began to turn. He was too late. Cley's sword arced through the air and connected, giving the man a one-way trip to hell. It was over. Cley slowed the horse beneath him to a stop, and turned to thank the youth who saved his sister. His voice left him, for in the front of him stood Roy, son of Eliwood, marquee of Pherae. "M'lord!"

Roy returned his blade to the sheath at his side, and looked up at Cley. "Who are you?"

Cley looked upon the savior of his sister, and still couldn't believe it. "I am Cley Hanta, only remaining militiaman in the village."

Roy glanced around, looking at the remains of the village. Cley felt as if he was being judged. "Do you have any idea who these bandits are?"

Cley thought for a moment. He hadn't bothered to wonder. There was only one likely answer. "Well, if I had to guess, they would have to be the bandits from up north, led by Damas. But he wasn't here."

Roy seemed lost in thought. Cley looked at the boy carefully. Cley was older, but not by much. Roy's eyes glowed in them a passion. Cley had never seen something like that before. The boy would lead armies, would inspire his soldiers to do great things. Cley could see all this in Roy's eyes. They were pure and strong. That was all Cley needed to know.

Roy looked over to Cley. "No, he wouldn't be. If what you say is true, Damas is at the castle. My father is trapped inside."

Cley looked over at Roy, then at his sister. Elly read his thoughts, and led a horse over to the lord. Roy took hold of the reins. Cley let his horse trot forward, and his eyes traveled northeast, towards the castle. "Then what are we waiting for?"


	3. Chapter 2

Cley's bravery was false. He was afraid. Fury heated his swings in the village, but now, as the dust settled, all turned crystal clear. The blood rested on his hands. Tainted, wicked blood, for sure, but blood none the less. It was the accursed fates who brought this upon him. He was tired. He had killed, in fury and hate. He saved the lives of many, and took the lives of few. But why him? Why should he choose who should live and who should die?

It was obvious to Roy what Cley now pondered. He once had pondered such things himself. But he must move on. And he would. "Don't look back on those who died, but on the faces of those you've saved. Those who you call family. Those who you call friends. Those are who you should think of. Those men had killed many, and would kill many more. You used your sword to stand against them. That is not a crime. It is praiseworthy. You were strong."

Cley knew there was still a ways until the castle, and he would be even more useless to Roy in his current state then if he turned and fled. "Who am I to judge who is to live and who is to die?"

Roy didn't look over at Cley, but Cley still felt the lord's eyes upon him somehow. "You haven't. The powers above, they did. Whatever you worship, whatever you believe, is what guided your hand. If it was not to be, it would not have been. Submit yourself to fate. Only it can govern power over life."

Cley was still uncertain, but the words Roy said rang true. His heart was heavy, but now seemed firm. It was his duty, to his people and land, to save his lord. That was certain, no matter how many stood in his path. A new righteousness surrounded his sword. Cley realized that, being so easily persuaded, he must have believed this himself, deep down. It was good to know.

The castle was in sight. And there did seem to be a battle, with many more bandits then expected. As the pair neared, the battle became clearer. And it appeared that they were too late. Strewn across the ground were bodies. Many bodies. And all had one thing in common. They were bandits. Still, Roy was tense. Cley was too. They rode through the war zone left behind, and Cley counted bodies. Much too many for his theory. A man like Damas would never inspire the loyalty of this many men. Something else was afoot. And Damas still was nowhere to be found.

The castle grew larger upon approach, and Roy noticed none of his own. Maybe they were inside. Roy only hoped. The gate seemed claustrophobic, and both could smell the death around them as the dead bodies continued through into the castle courtyard. How far had the bandits reached inside before they were beaten? Were they beaten? Roy's mind was clouded with doubt. He still saw no Pherae bodies, but why? No castle guards or knights, and yet the bandits got so far. Something here was fouler than he believed.

The two men dismounted their steeds and entered the halls of Pherae. No dead rested here, though the tension was thick. Cley could see men standing close, backs to him. One was clad all in red, another clad in yellow, and still a third clad in green. The men in red and yellow held tight to their lances, while the man in green, kept a tight grip on a sword. Cley could see beyond them a horrible sight. It had truly come down to this. There were at least four men on the other side of the hall, but Cley wasn't sure what lurked in shadows. He clearly saw Damas, his axe held tight to the Marquess's throat. Another man, dressed all in black, hood over his head, held a young girl that Cley had never seen, but knew to be Lilina, the Marquess of Ostia's daughter. The other two men were clad similar to the Lilina's captor. They were completely still, and Cley could see none of their faces.

Roy didn't know how to get out of this situation. He made his way past Alan, Lance, and Bors, and stopped short halfway through the hall. Only in fleeting thought did Roy ever wonder where Wolt was. Roy could feel the eyes of his men on him. He counted six men, counting the two in the shadows. Their daggers glittered against the smallest fragment of light, and Roy took stock out of the corner of his eye. Let them believe they had the advantage. It was the greatest advantage he could have.

The man who could only be Damas stared intently upon the young lord. "Just the man I've been waiting for."

The man who held Lilina scanned his eyes across the crowd. The blackness of his face was exemplified only by the red of his eyes, shining through the one his gaze finally rested on. Cley could feel the man's stare pierce him, his soul. It brought a shiver through him, though he dared not show it. His sword grew to be a burden in his hand. He felt his strength drain from him. His mind rolled. The world was getting black. Cley averted his eyes not a second to soon. His strength seemed to come back to him. The sword became comfortable to him again. He took deep breaths, as if he had been holding his breath. What was that man?

Roy watched as the Dark Man shifted. He knew the man was smiling. Finally, he spoke, his voice hiding the undertones of what Roy detected as a hiss. "It seems _my_ guest of honor has arrived, as well."

Roy followed the Dark Man's gaze to Cley, who was labored for air. The ride here hadn't done it. Had it been the man? Roy's eyes turned back to his father, who stood quietly. It was disturbing. Neither Lilina nor his father had spoken a word since he had arrived, but both stared at him intently. The room was again silent. Roy was the next to raise his voice. "Are you Damas?"

The bandit spoke no words, but his glare was all the answer Roy needed. "Let my father and Lilina go."

Damas smiled, but it was the Dark Man who spoke. The hiss was there again. Cley had caught it too. He dared not look at the man. "Don't be hasty, little boy. I recommend you listen."

Roy was silent. He didn't let a shred of his anger betray him. He was still. He seemed in control. In his mind he could see the men's blood. But only in his mind. Patience. It was his friend. His only friend. "What do you want?"

Now Damas, his axe glinting under the sun's gaze shining through the eastern window, opened his diseased mouth. "You, lordling. Just you."

Roy took the rapier resting in his hands, and turned his gaze to it. Damas seemed to tighten up. The other men stayed still. The young lord could feel the smile still shining from the Dark Man's hidden face. It was terrifying. Whoever this man was, he was dangerous. Roy's rapier fell into its sheath, and he unhooked it from his armor. The sheathed blade fell to Roy's feet. Damas was smiling, his muscles again relaxed. Roy could have counted the man's decayed teeth if he felt like counting over twenty. The man disgusted him. "There. I'll come to you. Just let them go."

Roy watched as Lilina's eyes grew to a horrible size. Fear rested in the eyes of his father. Yet Roy saw no other choice. The Dark Man hissed again. "It seems you misunderstood my companion. We don't want you alive."

Roy saw both men that were hiding in the shadows move for the first time. He didn't have much time. Roy banked left as a dagger flew past him, narrowly missing his ear. A second ago, it would have hit him right between the eyes. The lord eyed the other man, who had the throwing knife ready. Suddenly, Roy watched the man crumple to the ground. Descending from the rafters behind was Wolt, already reaching for another arrow. The four remaining foes didn't move. "I suggest you put down that bow, little knight, or your Marquess gets it. And I can make it very slow."

Damas flicked his wrist, and a trickle of red fell down Eliwood's neck. Roy looked back over at Wolt. Wolt hesitated, but finally relaxed his bow. The Dark Man looked around. The hissing seemed to be constant. Was the man laughing? "Not bad. But I didn't really think that would work."

Roy eyed the man. How foolish did the man believe Roy was? The attack was set up strictly to finish this quick. No one would waste two men on a mission that they knew wouldn't succeed. The Dark Man was bluffing. Either that, or much more dangerous than Roy had thought. He hoped for the former. "You can't expect to escape. Just let them go."

The Dark Man looked over at the man to his left, and seemed to twirl Lilina out of his hands to the man, who grasped her before she could react. The Dark Man, now free to move, began to walk towards Roy, who was now defenseless. Roy could hear the rustle of armor and weapons behind him. He put up a hand. His men stopped. Roy dared to take a step towards the man. It was the hardest step he had ever taken, but he wouldn't appear weak. "And why do you want me dead? Do I offend you? Or maybe you just can't stand looking at someone with an honorable life."

Roy knew the only chance he had against this man was to make him mad. He doubted it would be easy. The hissing laugh came from beneath the man's hood. Roy barely managed to contain his shiver. "An honorable life? Like you had a choice, you little lord. But alas, all of your _genius _guesses turn out false. I'm killing you, dare I say, for my freedom."

Roy had never seen the man before, but his voice struck a familiar chord. It wasn't the man he knew, but it was the tone. It was evil. Actual evil, or so he thought. The man laughed again. This time Roy could not contain himself. He shook. And Roy could feel the Dark Man's smile grow. "How brave you are, my little lordling. But it doesn't matter. Fate will tell that you will leave this room alive. Fate is wrong."

Roy jumped back as the man ripped a dagger so fast it seemed to cut the air in two. Roy looked down. A gash was struck through his armor. He could feel warmth seep down his chest. He was bleeding. And the man had missed. The Dark Man smiled, and his eyes shifted to a new target.

Cley felt time slow as the gaze of the Dark Man drew onto him. It was burning. Cley felt the heat from those red eyes, and clutched at his chest in pain. What was the man doing to him? Cley knew he only had one choice. His grip on his sword grew tighter. And then he ran. The Dark Man, under his hood, only smiled. He had been waiting.

Cley felt the heat in his body grow hotter as he charged the man. There was no choice. He had to kill the man. It was the only way to stop the burn. The man would die. The man would bleed. And the burn would be gone. The burn had to leave. Cley felt himself grow hotter. He imagined the smell of his burning flesh. The smell of smoke filled his nostrils. He couldn't take it. The man was causing the pain. The pain would leave when he killed the man. Soon, the man would be no more. And yet he heard the dark man laugh harder, his hiss like a beacon, aiming Cley's blow. Cley ran faster.

The downward swing was blocked easily. Cley never saw the Dark Man move. Cley heard the clash. And then the sound of metal falling to the floor. His eyes turned to see his sword shattered to pieces by the man's dagger. What _was _he! "Nice try, Cley."

Cley's mind reeled. Who was the man? How did he know who Cley was? How did he know Cley's name? And how could he do all this? Cley jumped back, clutching tight onto the remains of his blade. There wasn't much left. That was when Cley felt the burn again. It seemed to go right to his heart, and the man just kept staring. Why? Why was this happening? Cley never bothered to think about it. He only swung. This time, he was sure he hit the man. The man's robe was torn. It ripped. The remains of Cley's sword cut right through where the Dark Man's right shoulder should be.

And yet, nothing happened. The Dark Man looked to the wound, if you could call it that. All that left the tear was black smoke, seeming to rap around the man's body as it escaped. That was when Cley realized the man wasn't human. The Dark Man laughed. "You attacked sooner than I thought you were going to. My mistake."

Cley looked to the remains of his sword, and saw black residue on it. He watched in horror as smoke rose from his sword as the metal was being eaten away. Cley dropped the sword in fear, and looked forward at the creature before him, whatever it was. He didn't know what to do. And the burn was gone.

Roy watched as the Dark Man, whatever he was, readied another blow. Roy could feel the monster's smile. Roy knew he didn't have much time. He knew where his sword was, over five feet behind him. He didn't have time. His body moved before his mind could rationalize his movements. He ran forward. Roy only stopped moving when he was standing between Cley and the beast. Roy only stopped breathing when the knife plunged through his stomach, and Roy saw black smoke travel from the man's sleeve into Roy's fresh wound.


End file.
